


Falling

by notenoughtogivebread



Series: Klaine Advent 2014 [5]
Category: Glee
Genre: Depression, M/M, after season 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-07
Updated: 2014-12-07
Packaged: 2018-04-10 22:38:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4410593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notenoughtogivebread/pseuds/notenoughtogivebread
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for Klaine Advent 2014. Kurt meant it when he said he'd catch Blaine should he fall. He just didn't know the fall would be like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Falling

When he promised to catch Blaine should he fall, he hadn’t pictured this: this stranger, this empty-eyed zombie playing what looked like the 10,000th round of online solitaire. He didn’t picture his neat, particular boyfriend crawling out from the nest he’d made on Rachel’s bed, a nest of books, papers, blankets, and—oh, God—dirty clothes, to stand disheveled and big-haired in front of the open fridge, eating handfuls of dry Cap’n Crunch and slices of American cheese, a few grapes, washing it all down with swigs of bottled iced tea, before shuffling back.

He hadn’t pictured himself just falling apart, losing it in the face of this apparition where Blaine used to stand. He didn’t know which was worse: his own sadness at losing his support, his companion, or this overwhelming feeling of helplessness. Nothing he did seemed to make any difference. He’d tried talking, coaxing, suggesting, cajoling, demanding. Blaine responded with defensiveness, evasiveness, then resistance and anger. His repeated complaint, “I don’t understand why you won’t just TRY,” was invariably answered with some version of “I AM trying” or “Trying what?” or “I’m getting to it. You’re not my Mom, Kurt.” 

But it was worse when he allowed himself false hope. One rainy late November afternoon, when he slid the loft door open, it was to the sight of Blaine dressed and groomed, his Christmas playlist wishing Kurt a _Holly Jolly Christmas._ It looked like Blaine had made an attempt at the dishes, and clean laundry was either piled in baskets on the coffee table, neatly folded on the couch, or hung in a row on the back of a chair at the dining table. The broom and dustpan leaned against the wall by the bathroom, a small pile of dirt in the dustpan. There was a bag of trash knotted next to the garbage can. Blaine’s new workspace had been cleared of the mess that had been in residence for weeks. His laptop was open on it, with a tap dance instructional video playing on silent. The floor around the desk held its old contents: piles of papers, stacked dirty dishes, and his textbooks. Blaine knelt in the middle of it, a paper bag at his hip, sorting through the papers.

“What’s this?“ he asked as he took off his raingear by the door.

Blaine looked up, “Um, Acting for the Camera went well today, and so Warren DIDN’T harangue us for 20 minutes after the bell. It was like getting a free afternoon. The commute was insanely easy. Who knew the difference those 20 minutes make? And, I don’t know, I thought I’d get some stuff done.”

“Dinner?”

Blaine looked panicked. “No, no, I didn’t start—I lost track of time. Damn!” He dropped the papers and hurried to the kitchen. “Well, I guess we could do a salad? Or one of those boxed mac and cheese?”

Kurt sighed. “How’s about I figure something out and you get back to your projects?”

As he dug through the vegetable bins for potatoes, onions, and carrots and started browning some ground beef for Carole Hudson’s famous Hamburger Stew, he watched Blaine warily. The Christmas playlist moved through its tunes, but Blaine didn’t sing along. Instead, Kurt realized, at each change of song, his boyfriend stopped what he was doing and moved to another task, folding towels through _Winter Wonderland,_ sweeping under Rachel’s bed during _Silver Bells,_ then returning again to the papers for _Home for the Holidays._

It was odd, and not very productive, but it was so good to see him actually DOING something that Kurt let it go. But when he turned to scrub the potatoes he was met with a half-full sink of cold dirty water. “Oh Blaine. Are you going to finish these dishes? I really don’t want to have to cook around this.”

“I’m GETTING to it, Kurt,” he said distractedly, his head bent over his sorting. Irritated, Kurt was about to argue when the music changed again. As _White Christmas_ started, Blaine jumped up and rushed past him to the sink. He was tense and hurried, draining the cold water then setting to, water running, dishes clattering, cutlery clanging, rushing through the job. But when the song changed, he turned to leave the kitchen. Kurt eyed the stack of unwashed dishes Blaine had unearthed and the full sink still impeding his progress with dinner. “Aren’t you going to finish these?”

“I told you, I’m getting to it.”

“Blaine! I don’t have all night to cook; I have work at 7! Just—just wash the dishes.” It was like watching a balloon deflate. Blaine’s energy, his initiative, just seemed to run out of him. He turned sullenly and started to wash, then reached out and shut the music off.

In the silence they worked side by side, but Kurt had never felt so alone. He could feel Blaine sinking further and further, and he was frozen, unsure of what was a safe thing to say. When the last dish had been dried and the towel hung up, Blaine disappeared into their room. When Kurt left the stew to simmer while he went to change for his shift, he found him asleep on top of the neatly made bed, his favorite fuzzy blanket wrapped around him.

Kurt coaxed him out of bed to eat with him, but after dinner, Blaine retreated to the couch, moving some of the clean clothes aside and beginning to aimlessly channel surf. He didn’t move, not when Elliott stopped by on the way out to an open mike with his friends Tim and Georgie to ask if Blaine wanted to come along, not when Kurt paused in the doorway before heading out to work. He was still there, his eyes hollow, when Kurt returned after midnight.

“Come to bed, Blaine.”

“Yeah, I will,” he croaked, but he still didn’t move and he didn’t meet Kurt’s eyes. Defeated, Kurt showered, then slipped into bed. Blaine was there, somewhere, in the boy planted on the couch. But Kurt had to admit he didn’t know how to reach him.

He was still awake 20 minutes later when Blaine crept into the room, changed into his sleep pants, and crawled into bed next to him. He didn’t resist when Kurt reached for him, so he pushed aside his worries and fears and pulled him close. “You okay?”

Blaine responded only by burrowing closer. “Tired.”

No, it didn’t feel like Blaine was falling, Kurt thought. It felt more like drowning. And the periods of coming up for air were growing shorter and shorter. He didn’t know how much longer Blaine could tread water before he slipped forever beneath the waves. And he didn’t know what he would do when he did.

**Author's Note:**

> The second in my Advent entries that explores that unknown time between the end of season 5 and the beginning of season 6. I think my timeline is more stretched out than the canon one, but in general the events happen from a winter into spring.


End file.
